


For Science (for sallyfuckingdonovan)

by katiethedrowpriestess



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha!John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Omega!Sherlock, Omegaverse, Public Sex, Science, Watersports, alpha!Sally, omega!Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiethedrowpriestess/pseuds/katiethedrowpriestess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson could not put up with this biology class one more stinking minute, and when his lab partner asked him why, he energetically let Sally know why. They decide to confront their third wheel, and things go much differently than John had planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Science (for sallyfuckingdonovan)

**Author's Note:**

> I took a lot of liberties with the omegaverse science, but I feel as if I did a decent job explaining how things work in my 'verse.
> 
> This is dedicated to Tumblr used sallyfuckingdonovan, to whom I promised a short fic and finally presented a 5k word work.
> 
> (Please let me know if you see any spelling or grammar errors!)

It was four weeks into the semester. Four weeks. One whole month. Only three months left to finals. Only three months left to the end of university. Only three months til John got his degree and was off to the army. Only three fucking months.

But he couldn’t do it.

He could not put up with this biology class one more stinking minute, and when his lab partner asked him why, he energetically~ let her know why.

“Because Sally! Because this new kid, this Sherlock – what kind of a name is that, even?! – transfers into our biology class, after we’ve been together for nearly three entire years, and he just decides he’s going to make our duo into a trio, and then he’s not going to do any of the work?”

Sally’s eyes were wide as she set her hand on John’s forearm.

“Well, John,” she started, “Sherlock didn’t decide to be our third wheel. Professor James did and we should respect his decision. Plus, he may not be doing any work, but isn’t that better? Doesn’t that make it seem like we’re still the same old duet, the same old lab partners?”

John was softly slamming his head onto his crossed forearms.

“A little dramatic, eh, John? I think Sherlock’s okay. He’s not bothersome, at least. I think it’s all okay.”

“No, it’s not! It’s not okay!” John roared. “Professor James is giving us harder labs to do, and extending our presentation times, because now there’s three of us, only Sherlock isn’t doing any work! We’re doing 50% more work than we should be rightfully expected to do!”

Sally rolled her eyes. John was always this dramatic when it was The Season. The Season when all the omegas went into heat and all the alphas had a damned near impossible time trying to control themselves. Sally herself was an alpha on suppressors, but even if she wasn’t, she had a lucrative agreement set up with one of the criminal justice majors, a young master Anderson, though he had indulged in her desire to simply refer to him as Toy.

John, however, couldn’t afford suppressors. Stupid government. When would they make birth control more affordable and more accessible? It was those damned religious right nuts. . . ‘Sally, focus,’ she told herself.

She ran a hand slowly through John’s short hair, scratching him a bit behind his ear. That always seemed to calm him down.

“If you’re that frustrated, why don’t we talk to him today?” Sally suggested.

“Excellent idea, Sally,” John quipped, stuffing his notebooks and textbook into his bag efficiently, if not messily. “We’ll talk to him, and then he’ll bare his neck like a stupid useless beta and –“

“Excuse me, Mr. Watson!” Sally snapped, standing so she towered over John. “Just because betas aren’t as fertile as alphas and omegas are blessed to be does not make them stupid or useless. I will thank you to watch your tone with me. Just because they’re different doesn’t make them any less deserving of our respect and understanding. They were not blessed with such primal biology as yours or mine. However, they do experience love much in the same way that we experience our intense chemical and emotional attraction. Studies have shown that the only reason betas are not more open about their statuses is because being a beta is perceived as being strange, weird, wrong even, by people like you, who say things without thinking!”

As Sally took another breath to continue scolding John, the young blond alpha raised his hands in a sign of submission.

“Yes, yes,” John muttered. “I forgot beta rights were so important to you.”

“John Hamish Watson! Important to me! They are important to humanity!”

Sally was about to start up her chastising John again, but he lowered his head to show the back of his neck to her.

“Sally, Sally, I just meant that I didn’t think about what I was saying before. I was course and didn’t think about their feelings, as a. . . species, I guess. I’m grateful you’re here to remind me.”

Sally stood, cocking her chin a bit as she grinned smugly.

“Come along, John, let’s find our little beta partner and figure out why he’s always a no-show.”

*~*~*~*

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean. . . wow. He seemed so. . .”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, he seemed so. . .”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

John and Sally had tracked down Sherlock through a mutual acquaintance, Bill or Richard or something.

“I wonder if Mike knew about this. . .”

Mike, that’s the one. Mike Stamford.

They were standing in the middle of his flat on Baker Street, absolutely overwhelmed with the mess and utter chaos inside.

“Probably not,” John said back to her. “Sherlock seems so organized and prim when you look at him.”

They were trying not to stare as they sat, thighs touching, on Sherlock’s cluttered loveseat. Just on the side table next to John was a stack of six books, all holding onto multiple bookmarks; two dirty teacups, likely stained by now; an old biscuit which had nearly one whole bite taken from it; a rubber strip like what they use at hospital during a blood draw; a small bump of white powder; a tin cigar box; several matches; and a page from the phone book that had been ripped out with an abstract drawing in black marker that looked quite terrifying, though it didn’t look like anything specific.

John didn’t want to think about how dirty the loveseat cushions were and instead, focused on their lab partner, who was hunched up in a leather seat across from them, perched up on his feet like a bird.

“So Sherlock,” Sally said, “We realize that maybe you’ve not had a good experience with alphas, but John and I are quite fair, and we are patient and understanding, so whatever reason it is that you’ve not been to class, you may just explain. We shall forgive you, then we shall move on with the semester, and you can be confident that we will cause you no harm, and in fact, I run a booth at the pride parade during the summer.”

Sherlock giggled, then furrowed his brow, looking quite confused.

“They have pride parades for us now? What are we, freaks or something?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

“No one here thinks you’re a freak, Sherlock,” Sally said with a smile. “We are all humans, after all.”

“Are you feeling well, Sherlock?” John asked.

It looked like he hadn’t slept in days, or was possibly sick. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose was running. Sherlock kept wiping it on his sleeve. It was starting to bother John.

“I’m feeling deeeelightful, John,” Sherlock giggled again. “Just wondering why you’re here and why you’re suddenly having omega pride parades.”

Sally and John looked at each other.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I think you’re mistaken. We meant the beta pride parade,” John said.

“Why would I give a shit about betas?” Sherlock asked, wiping his nose again. He frowned when he saw there was a streak of blood.

John curled his lip in disgust. “Are you quite sure you’re healthy right now, Sherlock? You’re a beta. And your nose is bleeding.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, snatching a handkerchief from one of his pockets. “I’m quite sure I’m an omega, thank you very much, but I’m glad to know your assumptions were that I was not active in your little study group because I was a freak, not that I’m simply bored of the professor and have already read the textbook and done all the experiments on my own.”

Sally shook her head.

“No, Sherlock, you’re not an omega.”

“Christ, Sally, why are you so focused on my sexual parts? I’m an omega. I’m in heat right now. I love big fat alpha cocks filling me up. Why does that matter to you? Why are you so obsessively interested in who I take to bed? It’s none of your business!”

“Oh my god, Sherlock,” Sally said as she stood. John could smell her alpha pheromones seeping out of her as she voiced her frustration. “I assumed you were a beta because you’re a cocky, pompous jerk who doesn’t want to associate with John or I, which I assumed was because we were alphas which automatically means hate-filled to betas nowadays, and is too wrapped up in himself to even come to class or help us with the additional work that Professor James has given us due to our extra partner. I assumed all this because you’ve given us nothing else to go on!”

Sherlock’s ears were pulled back, his forehead smooth, as he accepted his scolding, but as soon as Sally had stopped, he, too, stood.

“Why don’t you just admit that you assume all betas are freaks? And all freaks are betas?” Sherlock said, his tone getting nasty.

“Sherlock, Sally,” John said quietly, a frown on his face.

“Why don’t you just admit that you’re too good and too wealthy to deign to help us commoners with this bleeding biology course?” Sally shouted back.

“Do you think I’m a freak because I’m not kneeling at your feet, too? If I’m an omega, isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Do you base all your interpersonal relationships off sexual stereotypes?” Sherlock redirected.

“Sherlock. Sally.” John said a little louder.

“You’re a freak because. . . because you’re a bleeding freak!” Sally screamed, striking Sherlock. Sherlock’s nose had only been trickling a tiny bit of blood earlier, but now, blood flowed freely down his face. Sally stared in shock as he turned into a literally bleeding freak at her hand.

“For the love of fuck, children!” John shouted. He stood, all 1.7m of him stretching as his voice commanded silence. “Sherlock. Sally. You will both sit. Now!”

John’s two other lab partners finally sat, both staring at each other.

“Sherlock, explain to me why your nose is bleeding,” John said sternly.

Sherlock looked toward John, but immediately looked at the floor when he met John’s fiery eyes. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. Sherlock was about to try again when he heard Sally sniffle, and he looked up to see her rolling her eyes, crossing her arms, and looking away from John.

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s breath caught as John grabbed his chin and forced him to meet his eyes.

“Explain to me why your nose is bleeding,” John repeated calmly.

“I’m. . . I mean, I am. . . I currently use. . . ah, recreational substances to fuel my brain and avoid tedium.”

“Mhm,” John said, inspecting Sherlock’s bloodshot eyes. “So you’re high. You’re an addict.”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock said quietly, unable to look away from John’s face. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“What is happening that you don’t understand?” John asked, his voice still calm. Soothing. Sherlock leaned into John’s hand.

“I want you to. . .” Sherlock frowned. “I can’t think of the words. I want you to rip out my nervous system, to rip out my brain and my soul and my heart, and put it inside yours, and tie them together. I want you to devour me.”

“Oh my god, Sherlock!” Sally said, standing again. “You can’t just say that to alphas, you know! You can’t just say that to anybody, especially. . .”

It was then that Sally noticed John’s erection, crookedly filling the front of his button-fly jeans.

“Oh god, John,” Sally groaned. “You, too? I just wanted to come over here and get some help on this fucking DNA cloning project and presentation that’s due tomorrow. Do you even remember?”

“Of course I remember, Sally,” John said calmly, still holding Sherlock’s face in his hand. “We’re just going to have to go back to the lab and take this pathetic drug addict with us. Drugs to keep him from tedium. . .”

John finally let go of Sherlock’s face, pushing it aside with disgust.

Sherlock’s face crumpled and he drew himself into the chair again, wrapping his arms around his folded legs.

“Come along, Sherlock,” John said sternly. “You’ll need to get cleaned up if you plan on coming with us, and you will be coming with us.”

Sherlock turned wide eyes on John, staring at him, seemingly uncomprehending as John’s hand reached out, before Sally suddenly grabbed his upper arm firmly and tugged him out of the chair.

“Come along, freak,” she sniped. “Where’s your bath?”

*~*~*~*

Sally pulled the dingy curtain back from Sherlock’s bath and began filling it with lukewarm water. She found a ratty rag and a bar of soap and, thankfully, stumbled across a tiny bottle of shampoo, likely lifted from a hotel. As she was rooting through Sherlock’s medicine chest, John was pulling Sherlock’s clothing off hurriedly.

“Come on, Sherlock,” he demanded. “We’ve not got all day. We have to get back to the lab and get this DNA transcription running.”

“I told you, I’ve already. . .” Sherlock began, but before he could finish telling them he’d already done the experiment, John yanked down his pants and pushed him toward the bathtub.

Sally turned around just in time to see Sherlock’s pants go down.

“Oh my god!” she squealed in glee. “Look at his teeny tiny penis!”

Sherlock blushed bright red, starting at his shoulders and racing up to his cheekbones. “I’ll have you know, Sally, that my penis is perfectly adequate for my station. It may even be on the above average side of things for an omega. I believe I’m 5.3 cm long. What about you? Do female alphas really have a honking huge dong, too?”

“Oh my fucking god, Sherlock,” Sally snapped. “Don’t make me slap you again. My bits are none of your damn business.”

“Then don’t laugh at mine, racist!”

“How can I be racist by laughing at your small penis?” Sally asked, a smug grin on her face.

“You’re mocking a core piece of what it is to be an omega!” Sherlock shouted, cupping his hand over his small penis. “Omegas experience pleasure in other ways. We don’t need to have a cock the size of a saber to feel pleasure. And I’ll have you know that the omega penis may be only 3 to 5 centimeters long, but it contains nearly 6,000 nerve endings, making it extremely sensitive!”

Sherlock looked like he was on the edge of tears.

“Come on, Sherlock,” John said, ushering Sherlock into the bathtub as he shot Sally a glare. “Let’s just get you clean and get some DNA copied.”

*~*~*~*

John sighed and rubbed the space between his eyebrows.

“I really wish you two would stop arguing,” he said as Sally and Sherlock ‘debated’ whether they should aim for precision or accuracy*. “Especially considering Professor James has always graded on both.”

Sherlock was about to add something when Sally’s phone rang. She sneered a little at Sherlock before digging it out of her handbag and walking away to answer it.

John and Sherlock sat in silence and heard little snippets of Sally’s conversation. . .

 

“Of course, sweetie.”  
“I’m in the lab.”  
“I guess. . .”  
“I know, Toy!”  
“I suppose. . .”  
“Yes, I’ll be right there.”  
“Better prepare yourself. You know what I like, pet.”  
“Don’t question me!”

 

. . . so they weren’t entirely surprised when she came back to the table to tell them she had to go.

“Anderson?” John asked as Sally packed her things.

“Yeah,” she said distractedly. “You want me to leave my notebook?”

John nodded as he added another 2 mL of yeast solution to their current agar plate.

After Sally left, silence fell between the two men for a while. John decided that Sherlock was a decent enough sort of chap, at least when he was given some strict direction and guided along the proper path.

“So who’s Anderson?” Sherlock asked, breaking the fifteen minute stretch of peaceful quiet.

“Hm?” John looked up from the microscope. “Oh, Anderson is Sally’s er. . . sex partner, I suppose. They have a mutual thing going on. Anderson is an omega.”

“Is it true about alpha females? About their c-. . . I mean, about their genitals?” Sherlock asked, a bit of a blush tinting his ears.

“Look, Sherlock, I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but have you ever. . . I mean, you have. . . are you a virgin?” John asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sherlock blushed farther, nearly glowing with how red he turned as he nodded an affirmative.

“I’ve never. . . I mean, no one ever cared and before that, it didn’t seem proper because of my age, so I mean. . .”

“How old are you?”

“Ah, um, 17,” Sherlock answered. “You’re 20, right?”

“Right. So is what true about female alphas’ genitals?”

“Erm. . . that they’re scary?” Sherlock’s hands were shaking as he played with the pipette in the yeast solution, sucking some up, then squirting it back out. “I’ve only ever heard rumors about the sheer size. Eighteen centimeters seems. . . huge.”

John snorted.

“The long and short of it is that female alphas are growers, not showers. So when they have a flaccid erection, their penis-like shafts are quite small and look more like a weird, wrinkly lump than anything else. When they get an erection, the blood flow enlarges their shafts to between approximately 17 and 19 cm.”

John looked over at Sherlock, who was studying his hands. John chuckled, and as the timer dinged, he rose to check the DNA sequencer. Hopefully, their DNA had been accurately copied this time.

“Well, all seems to be well with this sequence!” John said excitedly. “That was the first one we’ve gotten right on the first try. Is there something you’re doing differently than the lab manual says to do?”

Sherlock shrugged one shoulder. “The manual says to let the yeast work for 20 minutes, but I found it’s best to let it work about 27 minutes. That’s what I set the timer for: 27 minutes.”

John nodded and silence fell again as the two of them prepared three more petri dishes, this time with agar and solutions of bacteria.

“What about alpha males?” Sherlock asked softly as they let the dishes sit.

“What about alpha males? We’re pretty much like any males. Penis, biceps, the whole package.”

“No, I mean. . . are alpha males growers or showers?” Sherlock was still avoiding John’s eye as he asked these questions, his embarrassment almost palpable on the air.

“Well, I think alpha males differ. Females are all growers, but males can be either. For example, I’m a shower. When I get erect, my size doesn’t really increase all that much. I’m nearly full size all the time.”

If it was possible, Sherlock turned even redder. John cocked his head and looked at Sherlock.

“You’ve really never even seen another person’s genitals?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Do you want to?”

*~*~*~*

“This is the shaft, this is the foreskin, and these are the glans and meatus,” John said as he held his semi-erect penis in his hand. “I assume it’s the same as an omega penis, though I’ve only ever really been with girls.”

“Oh, I’m. . . I guess it’s the same. I don’t have foreskin, though,” Sherlock said, staring hungrily at John’s cock.

They were still seated behind their lab table, minimal lights on as the sun was setting rapidly outside.

“Well, let’s see it then,” John said, nodding his head toward Sherlock’s crotch. “S’only fair, since you’re getting an eyeful of mine.”

“For science,” Sherlock muttered.

John had the decency to roll his eyes when Sherlock wasn’t watching him. “Yep. For science,” he agreed, bewildered that Sherlock couldn’t hear the sarcasm dripping from his words.

While John still had his jeans up around his hips and had just pulled his penis through his fly, Sherlock had no such luck. He had to shuffle his trousers down around his legs to expose his groin enough to show his little penis.

“See?” he said, not seeming to notice how breathless he was. “No foreskin.”

“Interesting,” John said. He rummaged about on their table and found a ruler. “Let’s see if those national averages are accurate. What did you say was the average for an omega?”

“Three to five centimeters is average,” Sherlock said. “But that’s for an erect penis, and I’m not. . . I mean. . . Isn’t that crossing a line between us?”

“It’s for science, Sherlock,” John said. He licked his lips as Sherlock bit his own. John could practically hear the omega heat pheromones buzzing in the air.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, mostly to himself. “For science. How do I. . .?”

“What gets you hard?” John’s voice dropped an octave and he raised his eyebrow. “Surely something does?”

“Um, I guess, um. . . Here, wait, I need to. . .”

Sherlock was rising from his stool and pulling his pants back up.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, zipping his fly. “I need to use the loo or I’ll never be able to concentrate.”

John was positively leering at him now. “Number one or number two?”

Sherlock looked taken aback as John gripped a 500 mL beaker, his erection getting firmer, as he leered at Sherlock. As Sherlock stammered ‘Number one,’ John positively glowed with excitement.

“Well, come on then,” he said sharply as he handed the beaker to Sherlock. “Let’s not waste any time, then, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he realized John wanted him to pee in the bloody beaker.

“I can’t do that, John!” he squealed, his voice getting high with anxiety. But even as he said it, he was reaching back to his fly and pulling the zipper down. “We’ll get in trouble. It’ll be. . . It’ll be messy. Please, John, this is embarrassing,” Sherlock begged as he pulled his little penis out from his pants.

John didn’t miss that Sherlock’s little penis was now a slightly less little erection.

John held the beaker in his hand, resting his arm on his leg, and beckoned Sherlock forward. “Come along, Sherlock. Let’s get a move on to those national averages before we have to check the agar plates.”

Sherlock whimpered as he took small steps toward John. His mind was buzzing as he tried to figure out if he’d even be able to urinate with John’s eyes on him like that.

He rested the tip of his erection on the edge of the beaker. He had to stand on his toes to even reach the glass, and before he realized what he was doing, he placed a hand on John’s shoulder to steady himself.

Sherlock bit his lip as he tried to relax enough to pee. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling John’s eyes on his penis, waiting. . . waiting. . .

Splash.

The first few drops of urine hit the side of the beaker, and then Sherlock was able to pee freely. He groaned as he felt the relief, and chanced a look back down at John.

Mistake #1.

John’s eyes were focused on his penis, just as Sherlock thought they were, but he hadn’t expected John’s penis to have grown so much and look so utterly rigid. He felt his flow of urine slow, then stop, as he got erect again.

“You said you were a shower,” Sherlock said breathlessly, still on his toes at John’s spread knees. “I thought that meant you showed your size all the time, you didn’t. . . You’re a lot bigger than you were a minute ago. You’re probably. . . I mean, at least 20 cm.”

“Let’s get that ruler and find out,” John said, setting the beaker on the lab table. He waited patiently as Sherlock’s brain caught up with his words, and found himself wearing a shit-eating grin as Sherlock pressed that ruler right against John’s erection while still trying to avoid touching it.

“Twenty one centimeters,” Sherlock said. “The average rectum is only 10 to 12 cm. You’re. . . you’re quite large, John Watson.”

Sherlock’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide.

“Should we check to see how deep yours is?” John asked, placing a hand on Sherlock’s hip to pull him close.

It was the first time John had touched Sherlock, and the result was electric. Sherlock moaned and nearly swooned into John’s arms, his little erection pumping about a milliliter of semen onto John’s jeans.

*~*~*~*

“I’m so sorry, John. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean. . . I mean, that’s never happened before, not with anyone. . .”

Sherlock apologized profusely while the two of them checked the second round of DNA transcription in the sequencer. John was very pleased to see that things were nearly accurate again, and absolutely precise.

“Sherlock!” John demanded Sherlock’s attention. “Please stop apologizing. I thought it was brilliant. Kinky. It makes me want to do very bad things to you.”

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded. “Like what?” Sherlock was trying to look coy, with his chin down and his eyes wide and innocent.

“Like measure your rectum,” John said. He had hitched his pants up a bit while they were checking their experiments, but had not put his erection away. During The Season, alphas rarely got in trouble for questionable sexual behavior if they were with an omega, and this was the first time John was really grateful for that law.

“W-What will we use to-o measure it?” Sherlock asked. His body was already shivering with anticipation, leaking pheromones everywhere.

John leaned forward and grabbed Sherlock’s wrists. He nipped his ear lightly and whispered, “What about my cock?”

*~*~*~*

“Oh f-fuck, you’r-r-re so f-fucking deep, fu-uck-k,” Sherlock whimpered. He had a brilliant smile on his face as one John Watson pounded him from behind. They were still standing in the lab, Sherlock leaning over an unused table with his arms held tightly behind his back.

“Oh fuc-ck-fu-fuck,” he sobbed again. This was absolutely brilliant. In fact, it was so good, he. . .

“Fuck! John! I’m! I’m going to fucking. . !” Sherlock was gasping, his eyes rolled back, as he was yanked back onto John’s erection.

Come fired from Sherlock’s body as if from a cannon. The omega in question warbled for a moment, then stopped, his breath stuttering so hard from the orgasm that he was silenced.

During the heat of the moment, Sherlock felt John’s erection straighten even harder for a split second before the otherwise quiet alpha behind groaned deeply – Sherlock swore he could feel John’s groan in his toes – and filled Sherlock with what he was convinced was hotter than 37°C. 

When Sherlock’s arms were finally released, he groaned softly, and collapsed onto the table in front of him. He had never felt so thoroughly used, nor so completely and utterly satisfied. His body and mind had found the very first thing they’d ever agreed upon.

The timer for their next set of bacteria plates went off.

“Just in time, eh?” Sherlock slurred, tenting his arms over his head for some privacy.

He heard John chuckle and jumped when he slapped his rear. He was also pleased to feel John pulling up Sherlock’s pants and trousers before checking on the plates on his own.

When John came back and pulled Sherlock into his arms, kissing him so deeply that Sherlock felt it in his soul, he thought to himself, “Damn, it feels good to be an omega.”

*~*~*~*

Sally was surprised to see Sherlock in class the next day. John was pleased and beckoned Sherlock to sit closer to him.

“You guys ready for this presentation?” John whispered as the professor called their names.

John’s two partners nodded and they rose as one, walking to the front of the room.

“Here you are, Professor James,” John said, handing their assignment to the professor with a smile.

Professor James glared at John and Sherlock, sniffing deeply, before sighing.

“I think you’re going to need to think about keeping your hands off what isn’t yours, especially while you’re in my classroom,” Professor James said.

“Sir?” John asked, looking confused.

The professor gave Sherlock an intense stare, his jaw setting even harder when Sherlock didn’t look down, but rather linked his pinky with John’s.

“Sherlock?” John asked, still looking confused. He was starting to think Sherlock had had something going on with the professor, but that was just. . .

“It’s Professor Moriarty, Watson. No more of that ‘we’re pals’ bullshit.”

. . . crazy, right?

 

* Precision is getting the same answer over and over. Accuracy is getting the right answer. This was a huge deal in my chemistry and biology classes in university, so I thought I’d include it.


End file.
